Jealous
by Pachamama9
Summary: Harry grows envious of Uncle Vernon's adoration towards Dudley and loses control of his magic, accidentally wrecking the Dursley's television. Uncle Vernon is furious. One-shot.


**A/N: Another kidfic for Harry. Hope you like it!**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #7 (Green With Envy)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #457 (Jealous)**

 **Your Favorite House Boot Camp - #7 (trade), Gryffindor**

 **Build A Zoo Challenge - Lions (Harry Potter)**

 **The Golden Snitch - Through the Universe Challenge - #26 (glasses) - Blueshift**

 **Disclaimer: Queen Rowling owns _Harry Potter_ , not me.**

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If Dudley and Harry were both televisions, then Harry was the old one that Uncle Vernon had to kick multiple times to even get it to turn on, and Dudley was the new flat-screen that Uncle Vernon polished and kissed when his favorite football team won. Harry watched the way his uncle treated Dudley, how he coddled him and loved him and treasured him. How he wished Uncle Vernon would love him like that.

Now, he was running, sprinting across the house away from Uncle Vernon's angry eyes. He knew that once he found out what he'd done, he'd be in for it. His ear was still sore from when Uncle Vernon had grabbed him the last time. He spun around the corner, slipping on the ugly brown rug, and scrambled up the stairs. He hoped he could hide in one of the room's until his uncle's anger dissipated.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon cried. Harry could practically see him trembling with fury. "Boy, you get down here right now!"

Harry had no intention of going back downstairs. He rushed into the bathroom and swiftly shut the door before his uncle could enter. Soon enough, Uncle Vernon was banging on the door, having discovered his hiding place. "Boy!" The doorknob was jiggling from the other side. Harry found it strange that his uncle could not open the door. It had no lock. "Boy, you open this door!"

 _My name is Harry,_ he thought, but he dare not say those words aloud. It would only double his punishment once his uncle got the door open. Harry cherished his time alone in the room, trying not to think of his future punishment.

He was jolted from his peaceful stupor when he heard the sound of the drill buzzing against the door where he was resting his head. What was going on?

The noises continued until he felt the door slide underneath his head. He realized too late, then, that Uncle Vernon had been unscrewing the door from its hinges.

It slammed to the floor of the hallway, and Harry fell backwards, his stomach plummeting. Before his uncle could grab him, he ran back into the bathroom, seeking some sort of shelter from the doorless room.

Aunt Petunia seized him by the back of his much-too-large sweater and shoved him into the hands of her husband. "You thought you could get away with it," he growled, dragging Harry back downstairs. Harry shook his head furiously. He just—he just— "Look at what you did!" Uncle Vernon roared.

Harry was now face-to-face with his crime. He stared at the smoky remains of the television set, the one that Uncle Vernon had purchased just last fall. The pile of split wires, broken glass, twisted metal, and burnt plastic disturbed Harry. He hadn't realized that it was that bad. He only remembered standing behind the doorway and peering over the side of the wall, watching Uncle Vernon's eyes dance over the television screen.

 _"Come on, Dudley, my boy," Uncle Vernon said, gesturing to his son. "Let's watch some father-son television, yeah? There's a football game on. You know the teams?"_

 _Dudley merely grunted. He was too busy staring at his video game screen to pay much attention. However, he was lucid enough to go and sit next to his father. Uncle Vernon's team was winning. This was one of the rare moments when Uncle Vernon's face completely relaxed, and his eyebrows went up, so that Harry could see all of his eyes from under his bushy eyebrows. Of course, Harry could not see them now. He was behind the couch, so he could not see their faces. He wished he could see his uncle's expression. He liked it when Uncle Vernon looked happy._

 _Uncle Vernon put his arm around Dudley's shoulders, sinking further into the couch. Dudley, not wanting one of his many friends to walk by and see his father actually making physical contact with him, shrugged it off, his eyes pinned to his game the entire time._

 _Harry felt a pang of emotion hit him hard, right in the center of his chest. He did not recognize what the feeling was, or what it meant. Clearly, Dudley did not appreciate Uncle Vernon's tokens of familial affection._ I would appreciate it, _Harry wanted to scream._ I would! _He'd never received even a handshake from Uncle Vernon, let alone a hug. In fact, now that he thought about it, Harry didn't think he remembered a time when Vernon had actually referred to him by his real name and not 'boy' when they were not in public. It wasn't fair; Dudley got easy praise and wonderful presents from Uncle Vernon, while all Harry got was ugly bruises and a growling stomach. He would trade anything, if given the chance, for the kind of adoration that Uncle Vernon showed Dudley._

 _Harry could feel the bitterness churning in his stomach and beginning to rise in his throat. His fists clenched, and he felt his viridescent envy skyrocket. He managed to keep his cool while the Dursleys watched the TV, but once Uncle Vernon left, promising Dudley a knickerbocker glory for spending quality time with him, Harry exploded._

Uncle Vernon's hands forced Harry's face into the pile of rubbish. Harry's cheek was pressing against a hot piece of metal, and he tried to jerk it away, but his uncle held fast. "You don't mess with our things, boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "You do not touch our things without our permission!" Harry was crying now. The metal was burning through the skin of his face.

He didn't think that Uncle Vernon knew that it was burning him, so he tried to explain. "I-I-I—"

"Boy, I do not think I gave you permission to speak! You listen, and you listen good. You are _not_ a Dursley. You are _not_ part of this family, and you _never_ will be. You should have died with your parents in that car crash, but _no_. We got stuck with you. We pay money to feed you, put clothes on your ungrateful back, and send you to school. You are lucky that we were generous enough to take you in!" Harry was screaming now, clawing at his uncle. "Shut up!" Uncle Vernon gave him a good shake, releasing him from the burning pain of the metal. "Stop crying!" Harry stopped crying. The pain in his cheek was actually worsening, but he tried to bear it. "You are not my son, boy. And you never will be."

Uncle Vermon grasped Harry by his shirt collar and pulled him through the hall and into his cupboard under the stairs. "You'll stay down here until you learn to treat our family with proper respect," he hissed, and then he locked the door and left. Harry sobbed and sobbed, clutching his face. It burned, it hurt, it hurt so badly...

 _I am not his son,_ Harry thought. _I am not his son._ He looked at the burn in the mirror and took off his glasses, scrunching up his face, and realized that it was going to blister. It was worse than he'd thought. It was pink and slowly getting darker. More tears ran down his face, hitting his wound but causing him no further pain. When he glanced at the mirror again, he was surprised to find that the burn was gone. The pain was fading. Harry, again, had no idea what was going on.

He went to the door of his cupboard, listening to his family—no, to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley eating their dinner. Aunt Petunia was serving dish after dish to her precious son, and Uncle Vernon was congratulating Dudley on his mediocre grades. Just through the noises his cousin made in response, Harry knew that Dudley was focused on his video game screen. Or perhaps the television.

Harry's stomach growled, and he rubbed his hand over his belly as if trying to comfort it. He'd missed breakfast this morning for accidentally burning Uncle Vernon's bacon. He'd missed lunch for not properly trimming the yard. He'd had to sneak back inside the house for a few sips of water after doing all of his chores.

Harry knew something now. He knew that Uncle Vernon was never going to love him. Uncle Vernon loved Dudley. Uncle Vernon didn't love Harry, because Harry was only an idiotic, tiny, scraggly-haired, stupid, clumsy boy with ugly green eyes who the Dursleys sometimes fed. He was not part of their family.

Harry burst into tears again. He wished his idiotic parents hadn't died in that car crash.

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please favorite, follow, and review!**


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